Khomeini's Boy: The Shadow War with Iran Read Online Free PDF Page A

his head, processing what he’d heard. Nothing in his body language seemed dismissive. After thinking for a moment, he replied, “So you hate the clerics because they left our enemies alive before the Revolution was complete, keeping in mind that Imam Khomeini was a cleric, and you still love him, and he commanded the Revolution.”
    Jamsheed had never been able to describe his ambivalence so succinctly. This man understood him, even if he was only needling Jamsheed for a confession.
    “Yes.”
    “And you do not blame the soldiers who advised Khomeini to end the war?”
    “At least the soldiers came to their conclusion through fighting. At least they meant it when they went to war, and didn’t send people to die in their place while they grew fat and rich in Tehran,” Jamsheed answered.
    The man murmured, “Yes, we did mean it.” He looked at Jamsheed and placed his hand on his own heart. “We never fought that war to kill our own children. I cursed that policy when Imam Khomeini began using it, but then again we were very desperate, and we will never know whether it was necessary, because what happened happened . I cried whenever we deployed children.”
    Jamsheed tried to move away from the man on the floor next to him, but it was no use. He didn’t have the fine muscle control to do it casually, and he didn’t feel like flopping aside like a caught fish.
    “Who are you?”
    The man kept his hand on his heart and answered, “I am Colonel Qasem Soleimani, soon to be General Qasem Soleimani, of the Revolutionary Guard. My promotion stems from a recent reassignment to a new unit. Have you ever heard of Quds Force?”
    “No.”
    “We are a young organization within the Guard. I will serve as its second-in-command, and maybe someday as its commander. My job entails using any and all means to kill the enemies of Iran, wherever they may hide.” He smiled. “Based on what you told me, it seems like Quds Force will complete the mission you claim the ayatollahs left undone.”
    “Why are you telling me this?”
    “Because I’ve spent a month vetting you. Because my plans call for a handsome international jetsetter who knows how to make bombs.”
    “The Revolutionary Guard fights for the ayatollahs. The last time I did that, they betrayed me,” Jamsheed gestured towards the video camera, “Now they’re betraying me again. I figure I’ll keep resisting the confession until they get fed up and strangle me with a piano wire. It’s a better fate than serving them again like a beaten dog that keeps slinking back to its master.”
    Soleimani leaned forward until their noses almost touched. He said, “Then forget the ayatollahs. Fight for me , and help me complete the Revolution that the men in black robes left unfinished.” He wrapped a hand around Jamsheed’s filthy hair. “I promise you, Jamsheed Mashhadi, become my weapon and you will never have to fear betrayal again. Stop hiding from what you are , and help me avenge all that the enemy has taken from us. Join me, and let us make them bleed.”
    Men in uniforms signed important-looking papers in duplicate, and those papers paroled Jamsheed Mohsen Mashhadi within three hours of meeting Qasem Soleimani. It was May 22, 1991. He left the gates of Evin alone, hobbling like a cripple, but a black sedan picked him up at the corner. In the blank space on his prisoner release form, the warden of Evin had written “rehabilitated” in red ink.
    Six weeks later, Jamsheed left Iran to begin a three month concert tour of select venues in France, Germany, and Great Britain. None of the Europeans found it odd that he requested tours of power plants, train stations, and hospitals in his spare time.

Chapter Five
     
    It was early 2005. Ambrose Hayes had never hated anything as much as he hated the Green Zone in Baghdad. It didn’t matter that he’d weaseled his way into sole occupancy of a five thousand square foot villa overlooking the Tigris River, or that he worked